Unspoken
by kitzabitza
Summary: You can never escape the past. It always catches up to you, no matter how long you run. Nezumi had tried for as long as he could remember to suppress it, but what if reliving the memories full of bloodshed were vital to him staying alive? Nothing was what it seemed to be... And why does it all seem to link to a boy who died over 6 years ago? AU. T for gore and language.
1. Arrival

CHAPTER 1 – ARRIVAL

The boy flicked his pale, tender feet through the cool ocean water absentmindedly, and watched as droplets flew through the air like tiny levitating crystals catching the warm, golden sunlight. The icy liquid chilled his heated flesh, creating little rivers running down his arms as it mixed with the warm sweat on his skin. A small school of fish swap around his toes, gently nibbling at the flesh. The boy giggled softly at the ticklish sensation, careful not to kick the helpless water-dwelling animals as they kissed his feet with their tiny, puckering mouths. A sudden gust of wind disrupted the still, calm air, running its invisible fingers through his chocolate brown hair. He closed his eyes, allowing the breeze to brush over his body and flick his grubby clothing. He was so far away from the bustling, rowdy market place by the bay that the wind did not carry the voices of the shouting stall owners and raucous crowd.

"_What is this called, mother?"_

"_This is wind, son."_

"_Wind… Such a beautiful name."_

He sat there, his eyes swimming in the embracing blackness of the world behind his eyelids, shutting himself out from the factual realm surrounding him which he knew could be completely and utterly beautiful, so beautiful you feel like you could stand staring at its glorious wonders for all eternity, but he also knew the deep, malicious shadow lurking beneath the splendour, the cold and bitter bite of the ever present evil. He wished that he could forget some of the things he'd seen, and be completely oblivious to the dangers that he knew where lurking in the ominous haze of the unpredictable future.

But he shrugged that aside. There was no need to dwell on such dark pleasures of the twisted depths of the mind when he could simply lean back against the weather-worn timber wharf and let nothing but the lapping waves, basking sunlight and the gentle wind disturb him.

"_What's that up there called?"_

"_That is the sky."_

"_Sky? Is that its name?"_

"_If you want to say it that way, yes."_

He slowly leaned backwards until he was flat on his back on the greying boards beneath him, feeling the bumps and tiny splinters prick his skin through his clothes. His thoughtful russet eyes slid open, and were met with a perfect view of the endless expanse of crystal sky, clouds swimming through it at unreachable distances above him while looking so close that it felt as though he could hold them in his hands if he only tried. The boy could feel himself becoming lost in the endless ocean of blue air, and a kind of lightness rippled through his limbs. It felt as though he himself were as insubstantial and free as a cloud, floating over the endless trail of wind to his heart's content. The azure heavens seemed to be reaching their gentle, clear fingertips towards his eyes and filling his soul with the endless, calm presence they possessed that constantly watched over both the horrors and the wonders of the world.

Suddenly, the enveloping peaceful blue above him turned to black, blocked by a soft, velvety material closing over his eyes. The boy twitched at the sudden but gentle touch, reaching up to his relaxed face and holding up the mysterious object for inspection.

It was a flower. A small, purple flower, that seemed to dance as the wind buffeted its thin, smooth petals. The yellow centre that was as golden as the sun heating his skin tickled his nose. He ran his fingers over the flower, marvelling in its simple beauty. No matter how long he gazed at its unique lilac colouring, the name eluded him. A kind of sadness weighed on his chest.

As a younger boy, even when he was still a tender infant, he had wanted nothing more than to learn the names of everything he could find. He had been fascinated by the words that deemed things memorable, gave them a great significance in the world. By being taught an object or person's name, he instantly felt a deep connection to it, a love in his heart that came with being able to address somebody or something by what they were born to be called.

He had unfortunately never been given the blessing of a name. This lonely boy was grey shadow of a human being, forever destined to walk the path of silence, without recognition, without being remembered by a name that could be his and his alone.

The boy caressed the flower, tenderly stroking its head. "What is your name?" he whispered to it, his voice gentle and loving.

A loud boat horn resounded, its deep solid sound thrumming in the air. The boy scrambled up, water trickling down his legs, and stood on his tiptoes to try and see over the distant market stalls and spot the harbour. Ships never came to the bay at this time of the evening, so he was curious as to the reason behind this surprise arrival. Quickly tucking the purple flower behind his ear, he ran towards the second sound of the horn, bare feet pounding over the wooden wharf then through the stony dust of the market place.

Angry men in fist fights dived in front of him with muscular arms swinging, women carrying several children and a basket filled with fruit over their shoulders stumbled and yelled profanities, and beggars tried to grab at his clothes. But the boy was used to this kind of environment. He easily wove through the teeming crowd that buzzed with as much life and movement as though it were a swarm of bugs. Jump over the toddler in the dirt, squeeze between the legs of the man, dodge a passing bicycle. It wasn't exactly top class or luxury, but the boy had lived this way his entire life, so in his mind there was nothing better than this. It was his home, and he knew that he wouldn't give it up for all the riches and gold in the world.

He skidded to a stop, spiny rocks in the dirt catching on his small feet, and his eyes widened at the sight of the glorious ship. It was enormous, bigger than he imagined a boat could ever be. Steam rolled from the – what was the name, exhaust pipe? – and bathed the shining vessel in a dream-like wonderland of mist. It was like it had sailed right out of the pages of a story book.

A plank was lowered from the deck, smacking against the concrete slab used for loading with a loud smack, the timber wedge flexing wildly from the impact. The buzzing conversation of civilians slowly died down, mothers holding their children close in a protective embrace, thousands of eyes falling upon the mystery boat. Several men marched down the makeshift ramp, heavy boots thumping loudly, mysterious weapons cradled in their hands. Their faces were masked with giant black helmets, made from a material that looked almost alien, too smooth and glossy yet reflecting no light. Only solid darkness. A hunk of dark evil. The weapons in their thick, gloved hands harboured no brightness either, only reflected the potential they possessed, which was their ability to be a cold, brutal killing mechanism. The boy had never seen such towering, industrial looking figures, but he wasn't afraid.

He was fascinated.

The pounding of the mens' boots once they hit the dusty concrete dock slammed like the rhythm of an enormous drum, the heavy beat thrumming in the air. Somewhere behind the boy, a baby began to scream. The infant's distressed wails seemed to spark panic in the crowd, exploding the tension that had been hanging in the air and waiting to snap. Cries for mercy and shrieks erupted, people running in any direction away from the shadowy men, who almost robotically continued to march straight through the crowd.

The boy stood there, frozen in awe, mouth gaping in amazement. A chill rippled through his body as one of the black , cloaked, armed figures swept past him, but it wasn't a chill of fear or terror.

This was _exhilarating. Thrilling. _

_Adventure._

"_I wonder what their names are…"_

He wandered up the plank, one bare foot gliding in front of the other, almost as though he were in a trance. The screams of horror and pain behind him felt far away, as distant as the fiery sun that hung burning in the sky. Loud, echoing noises resounded among the crowd, like giant hands clapping in the air, followed by cries of agony, but they fell upon his deaf ears. It felt as though an unbreakable string, the all-powerful tug of fate, was pulling him forward, down, down, down into the bottom of the ship where something lay that, unbeknownst to him, would change his life forever.

* * *

Nezumi clutched his knees to his chest, trying to fight away the cold that continued to seep into his bones, his spindly limbs tucked up into the tightest ball possible. His dishevelled grey hair covered the hurt and fear his icy gaze beheld. The boat had stopped. This is probably where they were going to leave him. Yes. Leave him to starve. Be beaten to a pulp in the streets by the ignorant pounding shoes of passers-by. Not that they had been taking any good care of him over the two weeks he had been stuffed in the cellar. There was no point to his bonds, so they had soon been removed; Nezumi had lost the will to struggle. The darkness had crawled behind his eyeballs, infecting the young and tender brain behind them with a bitter shadow that had snuffed out any hope that had ignited a will to fight against the overpowering evil creatures.

He had seen their faces. The twisted, mangled masks of flesh that reflected the inhuman hunks of being they were deep down. The image was burned behind his eyelids, as permanent as a tattoo etched into his skin, and he feared sleep. No rest blessed his cold, lonely nights, emotionally tied down there in the cavern of the boat. The smell of stale alcohol and another vile, acidic stench he dared not identify forever lingered in his nostrils, making his head eternally hazy. Whenever he closed his eyes to the world, his vision swam with horrors. His entire tiny frame would shiver and convulse wildly at the vivid noises and images filling his head.

Blood. Screams. Bodies of his family. Flame. A horrid, ominous sky. Blades slathered in gore.

What they had done to his people. The same fate that would surely fall upon the people whose screeches he could hear from even in these deep bowels of the ship.

But why had they spared him? He was nothing special. Even his curious, silver eyes seemed to be glazed over, a precious jewel tarnished with filth. He had nothing special about him. He was not worth keeping alive. He was better off dead. After all, his name meant "Rat"; a filthy, sly vermin. He deserved to be treated like his namesake.

Nezumi stayed there cowering in the corner, however, contemplating his death but not taking any action. He loathed himself for that; he never took initiative. That was the biggest achievement in the twelve years of his life. Nothing. Sweet, innocent nothing. He wouldn't admit it, but as much as he wished for this living nightmare to be over for good, he feared death and its cold embrace. He was stuck in the middle of a literally life changing decision that he was unwilling to make, and no matter which direction he chose it would always lead him down into the depths of Hell, one way or another.

Frantic footsteps echoed through the dark expanse of what Nezumi had seen nothing but for the last painful two weeks, and his thin, spindly body shivered at the sound. Finally. They've come to put him out of his misery. Or would they just drag him away to expose him to the real life horror movie in this far away land? Or would they slowly torture his fragile body until he was driven insane by the agony? Scabs and slowly fading scars on his body inflicted by the monsters itched uncomfortably at the thought.

There was just no way to tell.

He just held himself tighter, resisting the urge to shudder as the padding noises grew closer. His heart began to pound. _They're coming. They're gonna get me. I have to run. Escape. Escape where? Where do I go? Do I have anywhere to go? No. I can't run. It's forbidden. Wrong. I can't do anything._

_Nothing. _

_I always do nothing. _

Nezumi nearly screamed when a voice shouted into the darkness. His heart went haywire, thumping erratically in his bony chest. His breath came out in raspy puffs.

The monsters don't speak.

The voice came again, and a shiver passed over his body. A human. A human being. A young boy. There is another boy on the ship. Nezumi couldn't understand what he was saying, no matter how hard he listened. Was he speaking another language?

When the boy skipped into the room, Nezumi was almost blinded. His startling, pale skin shone brighter than any star he had even seen. His soft and delicate but plump and healthy face radiated with untainted curiosity, innocent emotion not induced by a twisted ulterior motive. His deep chocolate eyes flicked around the horrid cellar, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light. He was… _beautiful_. That was the only way the shocked grey-haired prisoner could describe him.

Nezumi slowly closed his gaping jaw.

The boy spun around on his bare feet, a laugh of exhilarated mirth escaping his wide grin. His far too big but clean clothing swayed more gracefully then the most carefully crafted gown. Nezumi couldn't take his eyes off him. How could someone be genuinely _happy _discovering this cess pool breeding fear and hate, this horrid cell that kept him prisoner?

Freezing mid twirl, the boy locked eyes with Nezumi. His jaw dropped open. Nezumi twitched, defiantly holding his tawny gaze. They stayed there for uncounted lengths of time, staring at each other, frozen by surprise at the sudden discovery of each other.

* * *

He couldn't help but stare. Had this urge to explore the ship been leading him towards this mysterious child? He couldn't say. Fate was unpredictable like that. It had taken him a moment to adjust to the endless black of what he assumed was a cellar or storage room and see that he was not alone.

The boy huddled in the darkness stared right back at him with piercing silver eyes that seemed to slice right through him, his dirty and torn clothes sticking to his body. Angry, red scars marked his pale skin that appeared paper thin and ten times as fragile. Wait… "His"? The boy couldn't decipher whether they were a girl or a boy. Their long, grey hair that looked as though it would be thick and luxurious when clean made them appear incredibly feminine and they had a small bony frame, but their face was angled and masculine. It was impossible to tell.

Ignoring the fearful scrambling of the grey-haired child, he bounded over and threw himself onto the floor before him. The dusty, splintery wood beneath him grazed his knees, but he didn't care. He grabbed the child playfully, feeling them quiver beneath his touch.

"Hello! What are you doing down here?"

Fearful ashen eyes flicked madly, boring a glare into his chest. The child in his arms didn't respond, only cocked his head questioningly.

"Can't you speak?"

Dusty, cracked lips opened slowly, and incomprehensible noise tumbled from them. The boy leaned in questioningly, and the child tried again. He spoke in a flowing, complex language that sounded like a song about the most beautiful, rolling waves on a silver, starless night, woven by a skilled tongue. Its beauty was so clear that the boy did not need to understand it to appreciate it. The child's voice cracked and wavered, but it did not diminish the seamless nature of his words. It was husky and dry, as though they had never spoken before, but lived forever in a silent world devoid of speech. From the mellow, deep tone of their voice, the boy instantly assumed he was male.

"I don't understand what you are saying…" whispered the boy, brushing a slicked down hair from the quivering boy before him, careful to touch him as little as possible. The grey haired boy flinched, as though expecting pain. He sensed that if he was even the slightest bit rough with this mysterious prisoner, he would shatter into a million pieces. He was like a half broken porcelain doll, tossed into the attic and forgotten about, its flawless beauty slowly decomposing and becoming ugly, filthy dust.

"Why are you down here?" he asked again, still receiving no response. "What is your name?"

The grey haired boy just stared and stared in bewilderment, obviously not understanding. His body was as rigid and unmoving as though he was long dead, body already becoming stiff with rigor mortis. The glazed, cloudy look in his eyes gave off an even stronger impression that he no longer lived. Yet, despite his haggard, lifeless, he continued to breathe, his pounding heartbeat audible in the echoing cellar.

The boy frowned, trying to think of another approach, but none came to him. He could point to himself in introduction, then point to the boy before him to encourage his name, but that would never work.

Because the boy had no name.

* * *

Nezumi couldn't believe how hot the boy's hands were. They were raging with warm, and it felt like an inferno against his cold, icy skin. Those warm hands. They felt so… comforting. He wished they could stay there, holding his shoulders, until the end of time.

_Humans are warm when they're alive._

But what was this mysterious stranger's name? He'd barged in, scaring the living daylights out of Nezumi, jumped at him, and started blabbing gibberish in his face. Seeing the boy up close with his endless and pure yet forever observing and thoughtful brown eyes only deepened his curiosity. Nezumi had almost forgotten that he was balanced between life and death, starving to death in the pit of an evil vessel. The boy obviously couldn't understand a single word he said, because when he muttered for him to "get the hell off" Nezumi only found himself gripped tighter.

Finally snapping out of the trance that chocolate gaze had lulled him into, Nezumi pushed the boy off. His limbs protested, threatening to snap in half by merely touching the boy. However, the brunette gave no resistance and backed away, propping himself up on his slender, smooth legs.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, struggling to get the words past his throat. It felt like his insides had been scrubbed down with sand paper. "Who are you?"

The boy just blinked obliviously at him.

Nezumi sighed. No point shouting at him. He won't understand, anyway. Clearing his throat, he forced his limp, weak body to sit upright. His muscles shivered and almost gave way, but he eventually managed to get himself into a decent position. No more cowering in the corner, waiting to die. Not when there was somebody there to watch. Somebody to judge him.

He pressed a hand to his own chest. "Nezumi," he said, drawing out the name and pronouncing each letter as clearly as his dry, blistered mouth could manage. "Ne-Zu-Mi." He reached his hand out to the boy, pointing a spindly finger, and tilted his head questioningly.

The boy's eyes lit up in understanding, nodding his head enthusiastically. _At least I can get that much through. _His rich brown eyes widened, and he flicked his hand in Nezumi's direction. "Nezumi!" he exclaimed, laughing in joy. The name was spoken with a thick accent and sounded unnatural on his tongue, but it was close enough. "Nezumi! Nezumi!" He babbled on in his own language for a few moments, chattering excitedly to himself. Then he fixed his eyes back on Nezumi's own tarnished, jaded ones, making the grey haired boy flinch. The boy pointed to himself, and shook his head. His smile slowly faded, reflecting a deep inner sadness that Nezumi could not pinpoint the cause of.

_What does he mean? Can't he tell me his name? _He twitched as he suddenly realised the reason behind the boy's sudden deflation in mood. _Oh. He doesn't _have _a name…_

Staring into the suddenly saddened depths of the boy's eyes made Nezumi pity him. Is it possible for someone to live without a name? Surely he would have been named by someone… Or at least referred to by something, even if it wasn't strictly a 'name'…

_Thing! Animal! You filth, get away from me! You're a Rat, so I ought to treat you like one!_

Nezumi pushed the painful memories away, but could not ignore the sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. _No. You can't live without a true name._

A flash of purple caught Nezumi's vision, and it was then when he noticed the flower tucked neatly into the boy's hair. The dusty, violet petals were instantly recognisable. It was an "Aster Tataricus". In his language, it was called a Shion. They used to grow outside of his home…

...before it was hacked to pieces.

He reached out and touched it, the soft petals brushing his dry skin. "Shion," he muttered beneath his breath.

The boy flinched. Grabbing suddenly at the flower, Nezumi's pale hand was knocked away like a useless toy. He stared in wonder at the flower for a few seconds, as though only just now realising it was behind his ear, before thrusting it into Nezumi's face. The startled grey haired boy slid back in alarm, pressing his back against the wall to get away from the boy's sudden action. His heart pounded in surprise. The boy cocked his head in curiosity.

"Shion?" he asked, waving the flower. The stem bent and swayed in his hand. Nezumi nodded, his body rigid again. No matter how innocent the boy's intentions were, Nezumi was still unused to the presence of people. Every time he looked at the innocent look in his brown eyes, he seemed to expect an evil glint, a shadow of malicious intent lurking behind a falsely pure exterior. But he found none.

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. "Nezumi," he uttered again, pointing to his own chest. Leaning forward, touching a cautious finger to the boy's body he said "Shion." He had given the boy a name. A blessing that no matter what kind of life they lead, Nezumi believed, should fall upon every person in the world.

The boy's eyes widened, and Nezumi could hear the sound of his accelerating heartbeat. He laid his burning hot hand over Nezumi's, clutching at it tightly. "Sh…Shion?" he whispered, pointing at himself with a quivering, nervous hand. Nezumi nodded.

The boy grinned wider than Nezumi would have believed possible for a human. "Shion!" he cried, pointing to himself and bounding back up onto his feet. Tears streamed down his face, staining his porcelain skin with tiny rivers of emotion. He spun unsteadily on his feet but still somehow managed to stay upright, chanting his new name. "Shion, Shion, Shion!"

Nezumi felt a smile tug at his face unannounced. The action almost felt unnatural, and the muscles in his face struggled to form the expression. He had kept his face in a twisted scowl of fear for far too long. Shion saw his gentle grin, and smirked back. Although he would never admit to it, a single tiny tear of joy trickled down Nezumi's cheek.

A loud bang split the air, and both Shion and Nezumi cried out in alarm. Shion's wide, fearful eyes locked onto Nezumi's, and he tumbled to the ground. It seemed like it happened in slow motion, his body flying limply through the air. A groping, pleading hand reached in Nezumi's direction before his eyes rolled up in his head. He hit the ground with a sick thud.

Nezumi shouted, scrambling over to the lifeless figure on the ground. His body was weak and useless from being still for hours on end, and when he tried to move toward Shion his arms gave way and he fell painfully onto his face. Dirt blasted into his eyes and filled his already parched mouth, causing him to spasm and cough. Gritting his teeth in defiance, he ignored his racing heart and dragged himself along the floor, his unusable legs dragging along the floor behind him. Every inch of his flesh was crawling with distress, the ringing explosion still replaying in his ears.

"Shion!" he shrieked, reaching an arm out to the boy. Thick, fresh blood came away on his fingers, staining his hand a wicked red. Nezumi gasped and held back a retch as he saw a puddle of the crimson fluid pumping out from his body, creating little rivers of gore in the dust. He clamped his unstained hand over his mouth. He was going to vomit. He thought the sight of piles after piles of rotting, blood-covered bodies had numbed his mind, but seeing this pure innocent boy staring blindly off into the distance with his life seeping from his body set his stomach churning.

And it angered him. Angered him beyond violence. Furious tears poured from his eyes.

He grasped Shion's wilting body in his quivering, thin arms, holding him away from any more danger that would come his way. Heavy boots shook the floor.

A blasting pain exploded in the back of Nezumi's head, and his world went black.

* * *

_Hello, my lovelies! No, I'm still alive. Don't fret. I haven't updated in a while, so sorry sorry sorry!_

_And here I am, presenting a whole new fanfiction! I've started another series rather than just writing little oneshots. LET'S CELEBRATE COMMITMENT YAY. And I'm writing AU. Wow. That's a bit of a first for me. I always end up being unoriginal and just writing canon stuff... Haha. Please enjoy this story, I'm really excoted about writing it.  
While I'm here, for those of you who are awaiting the start of The New Number, please be patient. ^^ It'll be up as soon as I finish. _

_Please let me know what you think of this so far!_


	2. Recollection

CHAPTER 2 - RECOLLECTION

_Hot, stale, inhuman breath filled Nezumi's nose, those faces horrid beyond description looming in his vision. Those mangled, vile lumps of flesh hacked into a contorted twist of bloodlust and destruction. He couldn't look at their eyes, those glassy sinful orbs, for even a resentful glance into them was like tearing your soul right out of your chest with blunt fingernails and exposing it to the most malicious nightmare creatures ever imagined by the most insane alien mind. You were reduced to a vulnerable, quivering mess, your rationality diminished to rubble, your sanity becoming unstitched and torn to pieces faster and more painfully than if your brain itself was being gnawed to shreds. It felt like his eyeballs were burning as tears streamed from them, poured from those tarnished, worthless silver gems. Hot, thick blood flowed freely from the fresh wound on the back of his head, trickling down his thin neck. _

_Nezumi felt like he was choking as the rotten, contaminated air from their lungs filled his nose and mouth. He couldn't breathe. He was suffocating. White spots flashed behind his eyes and he could feel himself growing dizzy and disorientated. Those greedy, twisted faces loomed before him in a hazy, pulsating blur. His heart fluttered helplessly at the sight of the living nightmares, the weak pulsing in his chest only emphasising how feeble his tiny frame was. He tried to struggle, but their black-gloved grip was too strong and it felt like his body was just a lifeless doll stitched onto his head, unable to move of its own accord. Nezumi's head flopped back limply, his jaw hanging open as he felt the last of his life be crushed to pieces, darkness creeping up the sides of his vision, before he was released and tossed to the floor with a loud thump. _

_Fiery, burning pain snapped through his body in an inferno of agony on impact with the splintery deck, his chest rasping painfully as he gasped for fresh air. His mouth was filled with salty, unpleasant breeze, which only made his parched mouth dryer. The spots still blasted in his hazy vision, but he could feel energy slowly seeping back into him with each shaky, raw breath rasping in his throat. Why couldn't they just kill him already?! What did they gain from torturing a child? _

_His now blood soaked grey hair was roughly yanked upwards, causing him to yelp at the prickling pain in his scalp. Nezumi gritted his teeth to stop himself from shrieking at the awkward angle of his neck, which felt like it would snap at any moment. The soft flesh of his stomach was lifted away from the wooden boards beneath him as he was roughly jerked higher. His back arched against the monsters' grip, and he squeezed his eyes closed to hold in the tears pricking his eyes, denying their presence. He growled in defiance; a hoarse, crackling snarl. He would not give in to them, not anymore! I'm sick of this! If you're not going to kill me, then I'm going to fight back!_

_His resolve was quickly torn to shreds. _

_A raw scream tore his throat as he felt something sharp dig into his back, hacking into the skin with ease. Nezumi howled in agony as the sharp object raked down his flesh, scoring it as though it were a cut of meat to cook for a roast dinner. Or maybe he was the dinner. He screamed again as the icy bite gnawed into him in an enormous bite with more vigour, an explosion of indescribable pain shooting through his body. It felt like barbed, angled talons of a beast were frantically digging through his flesh as an archaeologist would scour through dirt in search of some hidden treasure concealed in his insides. His hands groped hopelessly at the weather-worn timber under his palms which were drenched in cold sweat, his broken nails screeching on the hard surface. The suppressed tears quickly sprung free, falling as heavily as a waterfall in a flood. His voice came out as raw wails, his mutilated body pumping blood down his sides and staining the boat deck beneath him. A gut-wrenching, wet slosh noise filled his ears each time another line of agony was etched into the canvas of his skin. He could feel his skin stretching, splitting, and tearing, each time forcing a feral howl of suffering from his jaws. Black spots scattered across his vision, his head swimming, but his merciless body refused to let him faint and become ignorant of the slashes marring his body. The pain had enveloped him so wholly that he almost felt numb and peaceful, each slit feeling more and more like a feather gently brushing his skin, yet agonised roars still rasped from his raw throat. Serrated claws scoured his cheeks, which were stained with endlessly flowing rivers of tears, slowly as a lover would cup their partner's face before Nezumi felt them hook around his eyelids and force them open. The gouging claws stopped their ministrations on his ribbons of skin, and his howls died down to rapid panting and gentle whimpers. _

_His vision was initially blurred by teardrops lingering in his bloodshot eyes, but everything came into focus as they rolled slowly, at an almost mockingly sluggish pace, rolled down his pale face. There was the innocent boy with the brown hair, hanging limp in the unbreakable grasp of one of the nightmarish beasts, his body completely lifeless. The bulbous head of the creature clutching Shion's sagging body cocked to the side, vile skin pulling together in a frown, as though questioning the look of horror crossing Nezumi's colourless face. It's red-rimmed mouth stretched right to the sides of its head, baring its stark white fangs in a malicious smirk. The sneer almost looked like a grimace. _

"_He didn't do anything wrong- AAAAAAH! DON'T YOU **DARE **DO ANYTHING TO SHION!" he hissed, fluids pouring from his eyes and the monstrous lacerations in his back. _

_Even now, Nezumi couldn't look away from the harmless, pure boy. Although every shade of colour had drained from his face, he was still as beautiful as ever. Shion's blank chocolate eyes gazed back at him, his jaw slack with blood flowing from his now dusty white lips. Red fluids stained his shirt, and Nezumi could still see little rivers of the blood dribbling down from underneath his shirt and plopping in tiny droplets to the floor. _

_Everything I ever care for is taken away from me. _

_Am I destined to live this life of anguish?_

_Nezumi wailed in despair, his heart pounding wildly, as the icy bite slashing his body was roughly yanked from his flesh, and brought in front of his eyes. It was a dagger, made from the same black and lifeless material these behemoths seemed to favour; not reflecting any light, just a husk of pure evil metal. His blood flowed down it like a waterfall, bits of skin clinging to the wet surface. His stomach churned and he started to gag, but no matter how much his body heaved it was not able to expel the disgust he felt settle in the pit of his stomach. He stayed there on the floor, back burning with agony with his head wrenched in place and eyes pried open by unrelenting hands forcing him to admire the limp, doll-like body of a new found friend and the horrid gore torn from his feeble body. He retched and retched, but his stomach was completely empty. The disgusting, painful contractions of his throat and his heaving stomach only made him feel sicker. His vision blurred and stinging water streamed down his already wet, burning face._

_The malicious blade was dragged along the ground, leaving a snail like trail of scarlet fluid on the ground as it wove its way towards Shion's drooping body. It made a sickening grinding noise, almost like rotten teeth crunching together in a monster's jaws as he savours his last wicked feast. No. No, they couldn't, wouldn't…! But he's already…_

_The beast wielding the knife shoved it roughly into Shion's thigh, and the boy spasmed wildly, releasing an agonised howl. Nezumi's flickering heart skipped a painful beat as the boy's still unanimated eyes widened with terror and pain, his screams only interrupted by erratic shudders as he coughed up blood and phlegm onto the stained floor beneath his feet. His body seemed to shrink, curl up away from the blade in his flesh in a futile attempt to escape the agony it erupted in him. It was suddenly jerked upwards, cutting a long gash, which only made his cries become rawer. Nezumi howled the name he gave the boy, but unable to move because of his mutilated, useless body. Damn it!_

_I always do nothing. _

_The knife was woven all around Shion's body in a sick, sadistic spiral, and his futile cries rang in Nezumi's ears. His head began to pound, and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out to the suffering child. There was nothing at all he could do but watch. His head was still roughly fixed upwards, preventing him from turning away from the horrid sight. Blood flowed like a water fall down his soft, youthful body, his clothing falling away from him in shreds. His tear-filled, lifeless eyes rolled up in his head and his gut-wrenching cries of excruciating despair fell silent as he passed out, the agony too much on him. The knife was yanked out of the flesh, and his body rocked backwards before tumbling onto the floor with a sick thud, looking like a half-cored apple. Nezumi retched again, his stomach struggling to disgorge the horrors that flooded his pulsating head. With no baggy clothes to cover him, Nezumi could now see how bony Shion's body was, his limbs looking as fragile as a twig. In nudity he looked impossibly purer, as innocent as a holy angel sent from heaven, even more so than the memory of those clueless brown eyes that still burned brightly in his hazy head. _

"_No, Shion…!" Nezumi could barely speak; his throat was as dry as though it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, so his voice barely came out as a crackly whisper. A blood stained hand shakily reached towards the boy as his body was grabbed again and tossed over the side, disposed of as easily as a broken toy. _

_The monsters began inching towards him again, a deep rumbling rasp erupting in their armor-covered bodies. Nezumi thought it sounded like a cackle, a wicked guffaw appropriate only to these blood-thirsty, destructive beasts of the dark. _

"_Nooooooo!"_

* * *

Nezumi sat bolt upright in bed, quickly clamping his jaws shut when he realised he was shouting the cry out loud. The hotel room spun around him in a hot whirlwind, his head cloudy and disorientated, his heavy breaths making his bare chest rapidly rise and fall. The sheets of his bed were clenched so tightly in his shaking fists that his knuckles were whiter than pure Winter snow. Cold sweat trickled icily down his back and moistened the now smothering blankets. Nezumi slowly pried his rigid fingers off the blanket kicked it off his legs, which felt clammy. His thin shorts clung tightly to his sticky skin. He threw himself out of bed, the racing adrenaline pumping through his shaking body needing to be worked off. He paced back and forth across the room, bare feet slapping on the cold tiled floor.

The image of the crimson blood remained vivid in his mind, consuming his vision for each split but painful second he blinked. His stomach churned, threatening to empty its contents.

Gritting his teeth, he paced for what felt by hours, the image of that innocent boy's body clothed in nothing but blood haunting his every thought. No matter how hard he tried, the picture wouldn't go away. It was a memory that tainted him, chained him down in the past and prevented him from living an at least relatively normal life. He forced himself to stop storming briskly from one side of the room to the other when he felt cramps begin to seep into his legs.

He turned towards the full length mirror on the wall beside him, ghostly grey eyes staring back at him. Ever since that day, any beauty in his previously crystal silver orbs had faded away, leaving only a dull reflection of the horrors that still lingered inside. Heavy black bags that destroyed his clear complexion lingered beneath bloodshot eyes. He had barely slept for months. That same memory continued to creep into his nightmares every night, yet he was no less alarmed by it each time. It was too vivid. Too real. He completely relived the experience each time rather than just viewing it. He would wake up in the morning, screaming, and the tissue that had been mutilated all that time ago itching at recognition. The result was this walking ghost, this man that was dead and gone on the inside, nothing but a vague wandering existence to those who he knew.

Nezumi turned himself around so his back was to the mirror, and looked back over his shoulder so he could see his reflection in the murky glass.

Long, pink scars defiled his otherwise porcelain skin, scarlet markings that looked as painful as the sensations inflicted to cause them. Curved designs that jumped in jagged lines through his flesh, moving in sharp twists to the side where the monsters had slipped. Marbled, white scar tissue over his shoulder blades that looked as though he'd had glorious angel wings torn from his body. The scars' stark, vivid colours made it seem as though although it had been 6 years since that horrific incident, agony still twinged in the long-since healed cuts.

He shuddered as those horrendously graphic images flashed in his head again, the sensations he remembered too well rippling through his flesh. His stomach heaved again.

Nezumi wrapped his muscular yet slender arms around himself, sweaty fingertips pressed to the sickening disfigurements branching around his spine.

_Why is it _now_ that I am dreaming of… __**then? **__That was all in the past… I was a fragile back then. I'm an adult now… It has been years. I can't change anything that has already happened, and I'm not going to let it affect me for the rest of my life. _

The broken man let out a deep, shivery sigh, his hands falling at his sides as his slender shoulders sagged in exhaustion. He couldn't let this destroy his day, after all. It was just a dream. A memory from long ago. Those monsters lived only in his dreams now, and he wasn't going to let that change.

He stripped out of his loose cotton shorts, pulling on a pair of cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt, thick coat and leather boots worn from years and years of travel. Stuffing his meagre belongings into his trusty rucksack and swinging the back over his shoulder, he left the musty hotel room.

The smell of mould and dust filled his nostrils, making him sneeze. The faint, yellow yet somehow comforting lighting flickered occasionally, bathing the lightly decorated lobby in a warm hazel glow with the brief intermittence of gentle darkness each time the single dusty light-bulb flickered out. The concierge rested his wrinkle covered face in his hands, heavy eyes slowly fluttering closed before snapping open again, looking more like a drowsy Pug than a man. He looked as though he had been doing that all night, struggling to stay awake and await bustling travellers that were highly unlikely to even consider staying in this ramshackle inn. Despite all of this, Nezumi had long ago taught himself not to be too fussy about the cleanliness and appearance of wherever he decided to rest his head. After growing up the world he had, he had learned vain worries such as that were far less important than earning a full stomach and a safe place to sleep.

Clearing his throat to catch the wiped-out doorman's attention (he was so absorbed in keeping his weary, inflamed eyes open that he was completely ignorant to the grey-haired man's presence), Nezumi slipped past and tossed a few coins on the scuffed counter. They clinked softly, a short metallic melody. That meagre pocketful of change was probably more than the overworked crease-man's yearly salary. The concierge didn't raise his head, his nose still crushed against the counter. Glancing briefly over at the computer screen glowing weakly beside him, Nezumi saw a series of angry looking errors and system failures, probably initiated my random jabbings of the keyboard in the concierge's fitful rest. A slight smirk touched at his frosty lips.

Nezumi pushed open the front door, the shrill squeaking of rusty hinges filling his ears, and he chuckled softly when he heard the concierge begin to snore.

There was one more hellhole he wouldn't have to visit again. Nezumi brushed a ball of dust that clung to his long, untied grey locks. Dreary early morning light barely warmed his goosebump-covered skin, soft clouds pregnant with cool rain waiting to deliver a shower to the awaiting flora and fauna below. A gentle breeze brushed the far too long fringe out of Nezumi's cold, stony eyes as tenderly as a lover's caress.

It looked like yet another cold, dreary day ahead of him, the visions still jabbing persistently at his head from the tightly sealed – or so Nezumi thought – cell in the back of his consciousness. The constant drumming of blood, fear and hatred he could deal with, but its significance to today was almost too heavy of a burden to carry on his otherwise relieved shoulders.

Today was Nezumi's 18th birthday…

…and the anniversary of Shion's death.

* * *

_Hey guys, those of you who are enjoying following this story, thank you very much! Please review and tell me what you think. I couldn't be encouraged to write anything I do without your support! I wanna know who is reading this~_


	3. Reflex

CHAPTER 3 – REFLEX

"A toast to eighteen years of me!"

Nezumi thrust a silver flask of wine up to the thundering, grey heavens, encouraging it to celebrate his day with him, and watched as only a few lazy droplets of rain plummeted down to earth like the clouds were shedding rare tears of joy. Some of the crystalline liquid beads clung to the bottle like transparent jewels. The swelling storm dominating the skies emitted a deep, rumbling growl in reply, as though trying to mimic the grey haired adolescent's blissful cry. A slight smile touched Nezumi's pale lips as the burgundy liquid sloshed inside the flask, a rich river of red captured in a bottle for dry throats to indulge upon. He sat on a crate against the side of an old warehouse, the rotten sideboards sagging against his weight as he lounged against the wall. There was nobody else around – this area had been abandoned for years, as Nezumi had found out from passing locals – so he was free to enjoy himself in the solitude he valued so much.

Throwing his head back and feeling a few stray raindrops kiss his face, he tipped the brew down his throat. He barely tasted the sweet bite of the drink as it slipped over his tongue. The last drop fell from the rim of the flask and he slowly licked his dry lips, the flavour burning in his mouth before slowly fading away. As much as this rare indulgence, this treat to himself, was a self-administered gift for his coming of age, it was just as much a method of numbing his brain from the vile images that had pestered his consciousness from the instant he had opened his eyes.

A comforting fuzziness settled into his stomach, and he sighed at the warm sensation the alcohol had blessed him with. He tucked his knees up against his chest as the first few uncertain dribbles of water from above became more confident, welling into a steady shower of glassy drops; millions of tiny liquid soldiers pounding on their drums. The rain clung to his long, shaggy hair, soaked and weighed down his worn clothing, bathed his exposed flesh in a glistening sheen of water, but he didn't race to get out of the storm. The cool fluid was soothing on his scarred skin, a fresh wave of tranquillity washing over his body. It was the total opposite to the gushing warmth inside his stomach; a counteraction to the heat without completely omitting it. This perfect balance from the two soothing temperatures was somehow ironic, considering Nezumi himself was always either too hot or too cold, too fiery or too sullen, never quite settling into what most people would call a neutral state of emotion. It was easy for him to find himself fuming from the ears with rage, and then doubled over with joyous laughter, only to be followed by a pit of cold, rigid sadness so deep you couldn't see the bottom. Yet somehow, despite this ever-churning inner turmoil, he could mask it all. Perhaps his ability to feel and yet somehow be so completely ignorant to these emotions inside him was true calm and impartiality.

He closed his sombre, grey orbs to the equally ashen sky, feeling the cold rain pound against his skin and the rumbling thunder shudder in his bones. The swirling spectacle of rushing, churning clouds above him, the mass of flashing grey and white, cast a heavy, looming presence over the deserted street. A flash of blinding lightning flared somewhere nearby, even visible through the thin membrane of his eyelids. A deep sigh gushed from his lips, the stark light more relaxing than alarming, sending a pleasurable shiver through his limbs.

Disturbing this rare moment of inner calm, the harsh metallic ring of a siren filled his ears. The noise echoed shrilly as it rose and fell, Nezumi snapping open his eyes in alarm. He slowly slid forward, moving out of his lounging position until he was sitting bolt upright, and his body instantly became rigid and ready to run away at any moment. Tension hung in the air, on the verge of shattering. He had heard that siren somewhere before, but he couldn't recall where. The memory refused to remain grasped in his slippery fingertips; every time he thought he had remembered, the trail of thought would slip away. Through the misty cloud of unrestrainable thoughts, one word screamed loud and clear:

_Run._

His skin prickled with each howl of the siren, hairs standing on end. Instinct urged, no, _shrieked _at him to get out of there, and fast. Grey eyes scanned the empty streets of the long abandoned warehouse district for possible threats; nothing he saw seemed to raise alarm bells. No danger appeared imminent, but a voice inside him begged that he turn tail and run. But run from what? The weather-worn concrete walls, their once light grey colour almost black from years without attention, shielded no eyes of an attacker. Rotting wooden planks scattered haphazardly in the dust and against towers of broken, empty crates concealed no wild beast. The drumming rain washed away no tell-tale footprints. Yet, this screaming distress signal piercing the air seemed to crawl beneath Nezumi's skin, infecting him, slowly poisoning him with terror without even a hushed warning.

Before he had even realised his feet were on the ground, Nezumi was sprinting through the once bustling, market filled streets that were now only haunted by ghosts of the past as fast as he could. Dirt crunched loudly beneath his boots. His worn bag bounced roughly against his shoulder blades, grazing the white marking in his skin shielded by his many layers of now saturated clothes.

_RUN. _

Something was going to get him. Every cell in his body confirmed it. It wasn't just irrational anxiety. It was a primal intuition conscious of dangers his awareness couldn't even begin to comprehend. His entire body squirmed in fear, crawled with disgust, shuddered violently at even the tiniest noises that peeped beneath the deafening shriek of the siren. Throbbing, fluttering heartbeat pounded wildly in his ears. He couldn't get away. It was everywhere. Anywhere. Nowhere at all. But somehow _chasing him_.

If he wanted to enjoy another birthday next year, then he needed to get out of here.

Each smacking of his boots in the rock-strewn pathway only quickened his already huffing breath. At another time, in another place, he would find this rather amusing in its own dark little way; this was exactly the way his mind worked. He was always running, screaming, fearful of an unseen adversary… The past. It would creep up on him in his sleep, through his dreams, snaring his mind at its most vulnerable. Those violent images of _that_ day 6 years ago to this date were all the responsibility of this snickering being in the sneakiest confines of his head, waiting to sneak up on him, slither into the unstable and rickety places. You can't escape your own head, though, unless you blow it off with a gun. Nezumi's incessant travelling was the product of this constant knowledge that a distressing mental attack could was imminent at any time; if everything he saw each day was new, there's no way it could trigger a vision of something from the past. You can't grow an attachment to things and people you've never seen before, right? Attachments need to be cast away if you want to become a person without burdens, without worries.

Although being afraid of himself dragged Nezumi down, at least those concerns were bearable.

At least in the world of his head, he actually knew_ what_ he was running from.

_RUN. RUN. RUN. _

The constricting bite of a stitch twisted in his ribs, and Nezumi gritted his teeth in discomfort. Breathing became less natural, more raspy and dry. Even the cold stream of water from above couldn't wet his throat. The calming qualities of the wine began to catch up to him, making his head feel fuzzy and numb. His limbs were heavier than if he was trying to drag himself through mud. The pounding in his ears became more rapid, more fretful as his heart tried to circulate sufficient blood through his aching, cramping body. He couldn't stop just because he was getting tired! Swinging his arms harder and faster than ever, he powered on and on, unable to escape the siren's wails that now sounded more like the cry from a gaping demon's mouth. _WooooooooOOOOOOOOooooooaaahh h… _A demon with black eyes, as bottomless and cold as… as the hard metal cloaking the exterior of _those… things. _Unreflective. Unbreakable. Cold to the touch. Sinking into your skin, sinking, sinking, cutting, slashing, digging, searching…

_RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN. _

Nezumi stumbled, barely catching himself on a windowsill before he tumbled face-first into the ground. His gripped the ledge so hard his knuckles turned white, old paint crumbling and sticking to his skin. Enormous, gasping breaths wracked his body, his entire form shuddering with each wheeze. The rapid thudding of his chest seemed to shake in the very earth. His pursuer could surely hear it.

_WooooooooOOOOOOOOooooooaaahh h…_

It was getting closer. His head began to throb, his stomach twisting in pure terror. It was coming. It was going to get him. Not just the attacker, but his head too. They were backing him into a corner, their eyes everywhere. He couldn't run anywhere even if he was able to move. His legs were nothing but jelly, barely holding him up. The pounding rain drummed down on him, pounding him into the ground.

_WooooooooOOOOOOOOooooooaaahh h…_

He couldn't take it any longer. His forehead pressed against the grimy window, cold glass biting his skin. Nezumi could feel the scream building in his throat, and it took every fiber of his will to hold it in. He still had a chance… What if it didn't want to kill him? No. He was sure that it wanted him dead. The murderous breath in the air was unmistakeable. Strength drained from him like water springs from a hole in an old bucket. He was defeated. There was no path other than death. Still, this pounding, queasy fear ravaging his spent body was killing him more than any bullet to the brain or knife to the chest ever could. He wanted to shriek at his attacker. If you're going to do it, get it over and done with already! Kill me! Kill me and cut me up into little tiny pieces, damn it! Or are you afraid? Don't give me bullshit! Just fucking kill me! Nezumi squeezed his eyes closed, preparing for the pain, the unbearable agony that would surely come, his chest fluttering in one last attempt to live. He shrunk into a ball, the sensation of metal raking his flesh all too clear in his mind. Waiting for death, the sick curiosity of what his already dead eyes would look like once his body ceased to function pierced his thoughts.

_Wooooooo-_

The siren suddenly cut off. The wicked cries splitting the cool, air ceased in less than a second, leaving nothing but dim, calm silence. Anxiety disappeared from his tense body so quickly Nezumi almost couldn't believe the ferocity of it, or let alone that it had been there. The relief was so sudden and so great, Nezumi's wobbling legs collapsed beneath him and he fell to his knees, face stone and confused. It was all just a memory, now, and a memory so clouded by adrenaline and fear that he would surely be unable to recollect it. The only proof of his fear that now seemed exaggerated and surreal was his still pounding heart, throbbing painfully in his chest.

No fear. Just calm. Overwhelming calm.

Nezumi doubled over, digging his fingers into the dry earth. His shoulders began to shudder, gently at first then madly with what he now realised was exasperated laughter. The fitful giggles made his body tingle, chest swelling with happiness that rarely showed its head. It wasn't just laughter of relief, but also a substitute for crying; the overwhelming emotions that had ravaged him like a starving wild beast had swept by so quickly his body didn't quite know how to react, and rather than sit there and let the confusion and mixed turmoil of feelings seep out through tears he would laugh them out. He sat there for longer than he dared to count, guffaws wracking his shaking body. When he finally stopped, he felt lightheaded, airy, filled with a newfound joy. The rain had washed away any lingering anxiety clinging to his skin. Nezumi wiped a tear squeezed out during his fitful giggles from his cheek.

A hand suddenly clasped over his mouth.

He jumped, his heart set racing again, and desperately trying to squirm free, but there was something pressed against his mouth and nose. A cloth. It was damp, and the fumes filled his nostrils as he gasped, trying to scream. Blackness began to creep up the edges of his vision, and his head swam with drowsiness. _No… No….! _ The figure behind him held him hard and fast, sturdy body resisting each of Nezumi's skilful twists to escape. No matter how much he thrashed, he couldn't throw the attacker off or see their face. Before he could push the hand away, the fatigue washed over him in a giant, inescapable tidal wave and he slipped seamlessly into the void.

* * *

_Ack. These chapters are progressively getting shorter._

_Anyways, what do you think so far? I really appreciate any feedback at all, supportive or critiquing my story! _

_I'm several hundred kilometres away from home for a pop culture convention (SQUEE), so yeah. Not much writing from me for a bit. Still, I managed to put in a bit of effort to do some in the car. I TRIED, OKAY. _


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